Page 3 of His Naughty Girl

New Modesty.The words echoed in my head, setting off alarm bells. I’d heard whispers about these places—rural towns where traditional values were strictly enforced, where women were expected to be demure and obedient. My feminist friends had railed against them, calling them prisons disguised as utopias.

“But… but I didn’t apply for anything like that,” I protested weakly. “I just wanted a job, maybe some career counseling…”

Mrs. Tompkins’s smile turned cold. “Oh, my dear,” she said, her voice dripping with false sympathy. “Based on our analysis,this is exactly what you need. In fact, I’d say it’s what you’ve been looking for all along.” She leaned back in her chair again. “You’ll start as a housemaid,” she said, her eyes roaming over me appraisingly. “But with your… assets, I expect you’ll have the opportunity to become a homemaker quite quickly.”

My cheeks burned as her gaze lingered on my chest. I resisted the urge to cross my arms, to shield myself from her scrutiny.

“You’ll have no shortage of suitors, I’m sure,” Mrs. Tompkins continued, her tone matter-of-fact. “That pretty face of yours, those big blue eyes… and of course, that figure.” She gestured vaguely toward my body. “Men in our New Modesty communities appreciate a woman with curves.”

My mind reeled, struggling to process her words. Suitors? Homemaker? It was like I’d stepped into some kind of time warp, back to the 1950s. This couldn’t be real.

“But I don’t want—” I started to protest, but Mrs. Tompkins held up a hand, silencing me.

“Now, now,” she said, her voice taking on a patronizing tone. “I know it might seem overwhelming at first. But trust me, dear. This is what’s best for you. What you need.”

As she spoke, I felt a war raging inside me. Part of me—a part I’d tried so hard to ignore, to suppress—thrilled at the idea. The thought of being taken care of, of having a strong man to lean on, to obey… it sent a shiver down my spine that wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

But the logical part of my brain, the part that had devoured feminist literature and attended women’s rights rallies, screamed in protest. This went against everything I believed in,didn’t it? The idea of being nothing more than a homemaker, existing solely to please a man… it was archaic, oppressive.

And yet…

I thought of my life in the city. The endless cycle of dead-end jobs, of struggling to make rent, of feeling lost and alone. The relationships that never seemed to work out, leaving me feeling hollow and unfulfilled.

Maybe… maybe this was the answer? Maybe this was what I’d been missing all along?

No. No, I couldn’t think like that. I shook my head, trying to clear the traitorous thoughts.

“I… I can’t,” I squeaked. “This isn’t… it’s not who I am.”

CHAPTER 2

Andrea

Mrs. Tompkins smiled, a knowing glint in her eye. “Are you sure about that, Andrea?” she asked softly. “Are you really sure you know who you are?”

Her words hit me like a physical blow. Did I know? The certainty I’d always clung to suddenly felt fragile, like a soap bubble ready to burst at the slightest touch.

I opened my mouth to respond, but no sound came out for a full five seconds. My throat suddenly felt like the Sahara. The room seemed to spin around me, the walls closing in. Mrs. Tompkins’s penetrating gaze bore into me, waiting for an answer I couldn’t give.

“I… I think I’ve made a mistake,” I finally managed to get out, in something between a gasp and a croak. “I should go. I’ll just leave now.”

I started to rise from my chair, my legs shaky beneath me. But Mrs. Tompkins’s next words froze me in place.

“I’m afraid it’s too late for that, Andrea,” she said, her tone eerily calm. “Selecta has already assumed guardianship over you, in accordance with our powers under the corporate laws.”

The air left my lungs in a rush, as if I’d been punched in the gut. Guardianship? What did that even mean?

Mrs. Tompkins must have seen the panic in my eyes, because her lips curved into a smile that was probably meant to be reassuring but only sent chills down my spine.

“Now, now,” she said. “There’s no need to worry. We have your best interests at heart.”

She gestured toward the door of the office, and for the first time, I noticed the man standing there. He was tall and beefy, dressed in a crisp security uniform. A holstered gun hung at his hip.

“That’s Officer Porter,” Mrs. Tompkins explained. “He’s here to ensure your safety and compliance.”

My eyes widened as I took in the guard’s imposing figure. Earlier, when I’d first entered the building, I’d barely registered his presence. In fact, I’d felt a flicker of relief at the sight of him, assuming he was there to protect us from the rising crime rates that everyone said plagued the city.

Now, though, that sense of security evaporated like morning dew in the harsh light of day. Officer Porter wasn’t here to protect me. He was here to contain me.

---